


Expiration Date

by LessonsFromMoths



Series: i'm stuck in HQ tumblr hell [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: And love Suga so much lol, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Coughing, Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, He never had a chance, Language of Flowers, M/M, Pining, Pre-Canon moments, Requited Unrequited Love, Sawamura Daichi is a Mess, Sick Character, Sickfic, Through the Years, Vomiting, a bit of hurt/comfort, bc Im a slut for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25682812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LessonsFromMoths/pseuds/LessonsFromMoths
Summary: Daichi's been coughing up flowers since their first year of high school, after he met and befriended one Sugawara Koushi."Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be."
Relationships: Sawamura Daichi/Sugawara Koushi
Series: i'm stuck in HQ tumblr hell [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851007
Comments: 28
Kudos: 222





	Expiration Date

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to get a Daisuga Hanahaki fic out of my mind since reading the dialogue prompts from [wholelottaprompts](https://wholelottaprompts.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. This was supposed to be 2k of Daichi being sad and then eventually growing a pair and telling Suga his feelings. It accidentally turned into this bc I got wayy too into Daichi's family and then I kept writing short scenes and then it was almost 10k yike. 
> 
> Also Daichi's feelings are kind of everywhere partly because this is SUPER unbeta'd but also because his rational mind is having a hard time wrapping itself around the idea that his love for Suga is killing him (even though he's always been taught that love is wonderful and amazing and cherished). So he's on the struggle train, you know how it is. 
> 
> Flower meanings in end notes! :)

Daichi meets Suga on the first day of his first year of high school. They lock eyes in the volleyball gym, Daichi’s nerves reflected in Suga’s expression. 

“Sugawara Koushi,” the smooth voice says.

And that’s all it takes. Daichi’s never had a best friend before. He’s had teammates-turned-friends, like Ikejiri, but he’s never had someone to confide in, to tell all his secrets to and plan his future out with. Suga becomes his closest confidant. They share mangas and conspiracy theories and meat buns and stories about their childhoods. They get ramen together after a particularly grueling practice or stop at the Sakanoshita Store after a great one. 

Having a best friend is pretty damn awesome. It means having someone to laugh at your jokes and make you laugh in turn (so hard, in fact, that melon soda comes spurting out your nose and then you don’t live it down for two weeks). It means trading homework answers when you forget to fill out a worksheet, or swapping bentos when you want to try something different, or passing notes in class when lessons get boring. Daichi wonders why he’s never had a best friend before, but then he realizes that it’s because he never had a _Suga_ before. That the person you’re sharing your life with makes all the difference.

Three months after their first meeting, Daichi is waking up at six in the morning with a persistent cough that he chalks up to the cool weather. He drinks lots of water and goes to sleep early: he can’t be getting sick, they have preliminaries soon. And if he is getting sick, then he’ll do everything he can to shorten its duration. 

He wakes the next morning with cotton in his head and congestion in his nose. Daichi gets ready for school and slaps a mask on his face, resigning himself to missing out on practice while he recovers from whatever cold he’s managed to catch. 

“Oof,” Suga winces when he sees him in the morning. 

“I know,” Daichi croaks, readjusting his backpack straps as they walk down the hallway together to their shared classroom. 

“You sure you shouldn’t be in bed?” Despite not knowing each other long, Suga is quickly becoming a staple in his life. They eat together, practice together, go to each other’s houses and study together. Daichi would never complain, he loves spending time with Suga, but their closeness also means that Suga is scarily perceptive when it comes to Daichi’s mental and physical state. 

“Just a cold,” Daichi says, promptly coughing into his elbow through the mask. “I already told Hidemi-san that I couldn’t practice for a few days, though.” He sends Suga an apologetic glance. “Which means I also can’t stay after with you and Azumane today.” 

Suga just waves his hand in front of his face, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. “Of course not. You should go home after school and focus on getting well. How are your receives going to improve if you’re sick?” 

Daichi finds himself smiling back at his friend, grateful for his quiet encouragement. 

Most of the symptoms of his cold recede after a few days, and Daichi’s back at practice before the week ends. But one thing he can’t seem to shake is the cough. It’s not incredibly nasty, just an annoyingly dry cough that almost constantly tickles the back of his throat. Daichi resolves to bring cough drops and a thermos of tea to school every day to keep him from incessantly coughing and disrupting his lessons. 

It’s two weeks since he was first out of commission because of his cold when he and Suga are walking to the club room after their last class and Daichi falls into a particularly annoying coughing fit, the tickle in his throat unrelenting and giving way to a sharp pain in the back of it. Daichi’s head aches from the constant coughing, and he’s acutely aware of the way he and Suga slow to a stop and Suga places a hand on his back as he tries to catch his breath between coughs. 

“Sorry,” he says, finally able to sneak in a few gulps of water to soothe his raw throat. 

“Are you okay?” Suga looks worried, his hand still rubbing small circles between Daichi’s shoulder blades. “That cough seems to be getting worse.” 

Daichi just shakes his head, taking another drink. “I’m fine, Suga. Thank you.” He shoots a grateful smile to his friend and they start walking again, albeit much more slowly than before.

“Have you gone to a doctor to get your cough checked out?” 

“No,” Daichi says, but hearing Suga fret kind of confirms his own fears that his persistent cough might be more than just a remnant of his cold. 

“You should consider it, Daichi,” Suga says. “You need to be well for our upcoming games.” Daichi looks over to see Suga already looking at him, and he manages a weak smile as he nods. 

“I will.”

That night, Daichi is coughing violently into his cupped hands as he sits on his bed. His parents still aren’t home from work and his little brother and sister are downstairs in the living room, watching TV. He tries to muffle his hacking as much as possible so they won’t worry, grabbing a pillow and shoving his face into it as coughs wrack his body. After about five minutes he pulls away and almost drops the pillow in surprise. 

There, sitting among spit and phlegm, are four flower petals, perfect and pale.

* * *

Daichi doesn’t know how long he sits staring at those four petals, his chest heaving as his mind tries to comprehend the weight of his situation. Despite its rareness, Daichi knows exactly what’s plaguing him: Hanahaki disease. It’s a disease that’s exploited in countless romance movies and novels, seen as both devastating and beautiful. A symbol of unrequited love. Daichi doesn’t know anyone who suffers from or has had Hanahaki: only about 1000 people are diagnosed in Japan per year. It’s still unclear why so few people contract it despite unrequited love being quite common, but right now Daichi doesn’t want to dwell on statistics. They’d just bum him out.

A quick google search yields a deeper understanding. The disease can last anywhere between four months and decades, depending on the amount of time the patient spends with their unrequited love, if they take suppressants or not, and physical shape and lifestyle. There’s even an online calculator: _**How Long Could You Survive Hanahaki With Your Crush?**_ Daichi fills it out haltingly. 

**How many hours per day do you spend with your crush?**  
Well. 10 hours if they had morning practice, 8 if not. Daichi figures that if he factors in study sessions and hangouts and factors out free weekends, it’s 8 hours a day. 

**How long do you exercise per day?**  
Easy. 4 hours. 

**Would you take the emotional suppressants?**  
Daichi hesitates, then clicks No just to see what it would say. 

There are few more questions about his BMI and eating habits, which are very healthy mind you, and then he clicks the button at the end of the calculator. 

_**Calculate!** _

Daichi bounces his leg as his page refreshes, and he stares unblinkingly at the red bolded number on his screen. 

**6 MONTHS.**

He closes his laptop screen, standing up from his desk and pacing. The petals are sitting on his desk, long dried from being stuck in his throat. They’re pretty, pale and delicate, but Daichi doesn’t even know how to attempt to look up what kind of flower they are. He knows from the big movies that the flowers he coughs up have meanings, ones that can help him figure out who he’s in love with or tell him why he loves said person, but Daichi doesn’t need that introspection. There’s no one else it could be. 

Pale blonde hair and a soft smile resting above a sharp chin flash through his mind and suddenly he’s coughing again, eyes squeezed shut and hand cupped over his mouth as he tries to stop the fit before it can escalate. Luckily, no more flower petals make their way out and he falls back onto his bed, squeezing his eyes shut and burying his palms into them as they burn with unshed tears. Daichi is a realist. He's practical and knows how to calm his oft-racing mind. And he’s so, so totally screwed. 

Daichi contemplates whether to tell his parents or not, but decides that ultimately he won’t be able to keep it from them. It’s also incredibly unfair to both him and them. He’s so insanely scared, terrified of this disease that will kill him before his time is supposed to be up, so why should he be alone? And he can’t imagine what it would be like to know that your eldest child is dying from a disease they refused to tell you about until it’s too late. 

With a heavy heart but heavier resolve, Daichi descends the stairs of their small house when he’s called to dinner. He keeps the petals in his pocket, wanting to tell his parents without Masaaki and Chieko there. He wants to keep this shielded from his little siblings for as long as possible. They don’t need to worry about their older brother dying; they’re not yet 11 and they deserve as much childhood as possible. 

Dinner is good; something his dad made. They don’t speak much, enjoying the company of one another and the good food as they usually do. Aki and Ko start fighting over their mismatched chopsticks, starting out seriously and ending in fits of giggles as they steal food from each other’s plates. Daichi’s always wondered what it must feel like to have a built-in best friend when you’re born a twin, but watching his siblings go from anger to amusement in a matter of seconds leaves him with a pretty good idea. 

After the twins clean up their plates and bounce off to get ready for their baths, Daichi asks his parents if they can talk.

“What is it, Daicchan?” His mother asks him. She looks as beautiful as always despite her obvious exhaustion. Daichi feels guilt settle in his chest. He knows his parents work hard to give them a good life, and knowing that this burden will be added to their load because of him gives him pause. 

But he can’t stop his throat from tightening and his fist from unfurling, showing them the four crushed petals in his palm. 

“Daichi,” someone gasps, and suddenly he’s engulfed in a hug from both sides, his parents cradling him as if he’s a child again. He can’t stop the sobs that wrack his body as he clutches them back. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he cries quietly, and their embrace merely tightens. 

They pull away when he stops whispering apologies, and he realizes that both of them have tear tracks trailing down their faces, too. He wipes at his own face. “I’m sorry,” he says again, this time more put together. 

His mother shakes her head, running her fingers through his hair like she did when he was sick and little. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry you have to know this pain,” she says. His father’s hand settles on his shoulder.

“We have to talk about what you want to do,” he says, practical as always. Daichi steeles his nerves and nods. “There’s the emotional suppressants, or the surgery, or even the choice to do nothing,” his father’s voice catches on the last word, but he continues. “Of course, we’ll support you no matter what you choose.” 

“I think it’s best if we go to a doctor and you can learn about all of your options,” his mother smiles weakly, still smoothing his hair. 

Daichi can’t even explain the immense relief he feels at having both of his parents here with him, to help him with his decision. _“How do you want to die?”_ They seem to be asking him. And how _does_ he want to die? Slowly, with the suppressants coursing through his blood as the disease progresses? Belatedly, a long life without the awful flowers but also without the emotion of love or memories of the person that's causing this? Or quickly, with the flowers raveging his body and choking him within the year?

And Daichi cries again.

* * *

The rest of his first year passes uneventfully, considering. After an emotional appointment with a Hanahaki Specialist in Tokyo, Daichi decides to start taking the suppressants. The risk of losing his capacity to love is too high with the surgery, and another decade with his loved ones and slightly dimmed emotions is better than a few months of agony and sadness. Living to be 25 won’t be too bad. His job prospects will be limited, but he can make the most of ten years. 

The suppressants aren’t too awful. He doesn’t smile as much, which worries Suga, but after a few weeks he gets into the habit of practicing his facial expressions so that he emotes similarly to the way he did without the suppressants. Everything is dull, though. He doesn’t have anxiety before tests. Suga’s laugh barely makes his heart beat faster. A good receive doesn’t hold the same satisfaction. He doesn’t get sad when they lose practice matches. He isn’t disappointed when he sits on the bench. All the things that once stirred something inside him are numbed. 

He only has to take one pill a day, which he forgets once in a while, but is easy enough. With his one pill, he coughs up flower petals once or twice a day. Daichi also has extensive practice in holding in his coughs until he’s alone, either walking home from practice or in his bedroom, his face pressed into a towel or his comforter.

“Doc says it’s just allergies,” Daichi explains one day at the beginning of their second year when Suga catches him with his face pressed into his elbow, hacking up petals. He forgot to take his suppressants that morning because he was running late, and he doesn’t like to run the risk of someone recognizing the pills if he keeps them in his backpack. 

“Oh, have you always suffered from allergies?” Suga looks worried. “Will you be alright, Daichi?” 

Daichi swallows another round of coughs, his heart swelling a bit at the pure softness in Suga’s tone. Often, Suga is teasing and mischievous, his angel exterior contrasting with the pure demon inside him. But sometimes, he looks at Daichi with such tenderness that he absolutely melts. 

“Yeah, I’ve always had bad allergies,” Daichi lies. “I just forgot to take my medication today. I’ll be sure to remember it tomorrow.” 

Suga punches him, immediately transforming back into his normal best friend. “You’d better, idiot. You have another coughing fit like that and someone will think you’re on your deathbed.”

Daichi freezes at the innocent words, but quickly moves to follow Suga to the club room. “Wouldn’t want to lead them astray,” he says hesitantly.

Suga just laughs, calling him ridiculous. 

That night, Daichi hacks up long, yellow petals. _Sunflowers,_ his mother says when he shows her. He looks it up later that night. _Loyalty, longevity, adoration._

* * *

Asahi finds out during their second year. 

It’s a bad day, and Daichi had escaped practice when he felt something awful rising up in his chest after Suga had slapped his back for a particularly good receive. He runs to the bathroom nearest to the gym, knees hitting the floor as he sticks his head into the toilet bowl, desperately dry heaving and coughing until he produces whatever his body is rejecting. He pukes for what feels like hours but is only a few minutes before his body stops. He’s shaking and gripping the toilet, hands and legs trembling as he stares down at the fully-formed flower buds floating mockingly in the toilet bowl. They’re tiny, and a beautiful blue. He swallows more bile, this time formed from fear and disgust rather than his suffocating feelings for his best friend, but it isn’t long before he’s coughing uncontrollably into the toilet again, slimy petals forcing their way up his throat as his body forcefully expels them. Daichi is gasping for air between heaves when someone else enters the bathroom.

“Daichi?” He recognizes the voice, but Daichi can’t even lift his head from the toilet bowl as he yells back.

“Go away!” His stomach lurches again and he vomits his lunch mixed with sweet-smelling flowers into the bowl. He coughs helplessly, tears streaming down his face and snot mixing with them in an awful mess. He leans back from the toilet bowl and looks up to see Asahi standing over him, his eyes blown wide open and his mouth frozen in the shape of a question. Fuck. Daichi had forgotten to close the stall door behind him. 

Daichi quickly leans forward to flush the evidence away, but they both know it’s too late. Asahi saw the flowers. 

Daichi sighs, pulling his knees into his chest as he sniffs loudly, tears and snot still mingling grossly on his face. Surprisingly, Asahi sinks down next to him, grabbing some toilet paper from the dispenser and holding it out to Daichi. Daichi gratefully takes it, wiping his face and then blowing his nose before tossing the paper into the toilet. 

“Kurokawa-san sent me to find you,” he says timidly, referring to their captain. “He said you had a funny look on your face when you left.” Asahi looks uncomfortable. “Suga wanted to come after you, but Kurokawa wouldn’t let him. Is...is this why?”

Daichi sighs again. So his captain suspected what was going on with him. He grimaces. “Yeah,” he says slowly, his throat raw. “I’ve been sick for a year.”

“A year!?” Asahi looks alarmed. “I...you…a year?”

Daichi nods grimly. “Some days are worse than others.” He spares a glance at the toilet, feeling flowers threaten his throat again. “Much worse than others,” he amends. 

“I didn’t know people actually got Hanahaki,” Asahi mumbles. 

“Me neither,” Daichi laughs bitterly.

They’re silent for a moment. “So...Suga?”

Daichi winces, but Asahi doesn’t budge. “For a while,” Daichi responds. It doesn’t really make much sense as a response, but Asahi seems to understand what he means. 

“Is-is that why you’ve been pushing Suga away?” 

Daichi winces again. Damn, Asahi really isn't pulling any punches today. “You noticed?”

“He did,” is what Asahi says. This conversation is honestly getting more and more painful. If it could stop right now, that would be great. “He asked me if you’ve said anything. If he, uh, did anything wrong.”

Daichi pulls his head into his hands, annoyed at himself. “Shit. I didn’t mean to hurt him.” 

“Then apologize,” Asahi shrugs. “And obviously don’t tell him if you don’t want to, but...the truth goes a long way. “

Daichi looks over at his tall friend, usually so timid, now a source of strength. “When did you get so wise?” He asks. Asahi shrugs. 

At that moment, the bathroom door opens again and Suga comes bursting in, eyes sweeping over the bathroom before zeroing in on his two friends on the bathroom floor. “Are you okay?” His brows are immediately furrowed with worry. 

“We’re fine,” Daichi says, steeling himself to stand. 

“Daichi was feeling pretty sick,” Asahi says smoothly. Daichi’s impressed, if he’s being honest. It’s technically not a lie, but Daichi didn’t know that Asahi would be so good in a pinch.

Suga looks at him with that same worried expression that Daichi is starting to feel insanely guilty about. “Come on then, let’s get back to the gym. I’ll tell Kurokawa-san that you’re not feeling well and then I’ll walk you home. Sound good?”

Asahi steps on Daichi’s foot, but even without the cue Daichi knows what he’s supposed to say. “Sounds good,” he says. Suga pushes him towards the club room, telling Daichi that he’ll explain the situation to Kurokawa before taking him home. Asahi’s words bounce through Daichi’s mind as he changes back into his school uniform, limbs heavy. Could he ever tell Suga the truth? The idea seems scary (he took his suppressant today, which is how he knows that the idea must be scary, if he can feel the fear beyond his desensitized brain). What if Suga reacted badly? Then he would lose his best friend.

Not to mention, a blatant rejection would inevitably lead to another decision on Daichi’s part: continue living knowing that Suga would never return his feelings and eventually die because of that, or get the surgery because Suga would never return his feelings and then never be able to feel romantic love ever again. Right now, even having the smallest hope that Suga might one day love him back is worth holding onto.

In some of the movies made about Hanahaki, the person with the disease would do everything in their power to prove to their unrequited lover that they would make a good partner. In the romantic comedies, they would end up causing the other person to fall in love with them and everything would end beautifully and wonderfully. 

Daichi can’t imagine that sort of easy ending for himself.

“Come on Dai, let’s get you home,” Suga bursts into the clubroom. 

Daichi smiles warmly at him, shouldering his pack and following Suga out. Suga opts to not change out of his clothes since the weather is warm enough. 

“How are you feeling?” Suga asks. Their pace is slower than normal, probably out of respect for Daichi’s current state. He’s not mad about it, he feels a bit lightheaded from all of the coughing and puking and their casual gait makes the walk almost pleasant. 

“Better,” Daichi says truthfully. “Hey Suga? I’m sorry if I’ve been distant lately.” 

Suga turns to him in surprise. “Oh. I...had hardly noticed,” he lies. Suga is not a very good liar, and Daichi tells him so. It makes Suga laugh a little. “Okay fine, yes, maybe you have been a bit distant lately. But we’ve had a lot on our minds. The team has to get stronger if we want to go to the Spring Tournament. And I think that we’re really getting the timing down on our attack! And we had that math test, and--”

“Suga. It’s no excuse. You’ve been just as busy as me and you still make tons of time and effort for our friendship. I’m sorry I haven’t been doing the same lately. I promise I’ll do better, because you deserve it. I don’t want you to wake up one day and realize that you could pick a better friend.” It’s maybe the most honest Daichi has ever been with someone else. Based on the quirk of Suga’s lips, he’s figured as much, too.

“Well. I...thank you, Daichi.” Suga grasps his hand for a second and squeezes it before immediately letting go. “But despite what you believe, I think I picked my best friend right the first time.”

Daichi smiles back at him but his face quickly crumples as he holds back another coughing fit. “Daichi? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Daichi wheezes, swallowing the petals he feels in the back of his throat and straightening his spine and shoulders. 

“You’re obviously not fine,” Suga says, taking a step closer to him as they continue their trek to Daichi’s house. “Can you make it to your house?”

Daichi simultaneously wants to take a step back and take another step towards Suga. Their shoulders are almost brushing, and he’s loath to find out what that might do to his body if they spend the rest of the walk pressed up against each other. “We can make it,” Daichi says. 

They get there 30 minutes later, and Daichi’s dad is home early because the twins don’t have any after-school activities on Fridays. Daichi can tell that someone phoned his house because his dad greets them at the door, inviting Suga inside for a snack to thank him for bringing Daichi home safely. 

“Oh, thank you Sawamura-san, but I think I’ll use this extra time to study for our upcoming math test. Daichi, if you’re feeling better tomorrow do you want to come over after practice to study?” Suga turns his expectant gaze to his friend. 

“Yeah, sounds like a plan. Thanks for walking me home, Suga.”

“Of course. Can’t have our future captain up and dying in the middle of the street, can we?” He winks and Daichi’s heart lurches. It’s no secret that Kurokawa has been teaching Daichi things about leadership and what it means to be a captain of a fallen team, but no one’s called him that before. It makes him feel proud. “I’ll see you tomorrow! Feel better. Goodbye, Sawamura-san.” And with that he’s gone out the door, making his way up the street to his house about ten minutes away.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” His dad’s voice breaks through the silence left in Suga’s wake. His parents have met Suga, have hosted sleepovers and had him at their dinner table, but this is the first time one of them has made the connection. His parents had been careful not to use pronouns when talking about his disease, and Daichi had never bothered to come out to them. He figures that having and loving a son with a rapidly approaching expiration date is more important than having a gay son. 

So Daichi merely nods, still staring at the door. His dad places a hand on his shoulder and Daichi hangs his head, tears leaking from his eyes. He cries much more easily these days. The tears drip to the floor and he barely has time to mourn his misfortune before two sets of loud footsteps come bounding into the room. Daichi quickly wipes at his face and stands up tall. His father squeezes his shoulder and lets go. 

“Daicchan!!!!” The twins squeal, jumping on him. “You’re home early!” 

Daichi gathers them into his arms, squeezing them tightly to him. “I came home early to play with you! What are you two up to?” 

The two of them share a look before grinning at him with identical smiles. “Will you color with us!?” Ko asks.

Daichi picks her up, swinging her over his shoulder like he’s a firefighter. “Of course! Where to?” He booms loudly, making the twins giggle.

“The living room, ho!” Ko yells. Masaaki, the quieter of the two, trails behind them with a skip in his step. Daichi wants to create as many memories with them as he can before he's too sick to, so he tries not to say no when they ask for more time with him. Lately, coloring has been their favorite pastime, and both of the kids are becoming little artists. 

“Daicchan, will you show us how to make the octopus again?” Aki asks, tugging lightly on his hand. 

“I think I most certainly can!” 

“Yes!” Ko wiggles down from his grasp to do a happy dance to demonstrate her excitement at his agreement. Daichi is no artist in any sense of the word, but when the twins were old enough to hold a writing utensil he learned how to draw cartoon animals so he could entertain them. Being five years older than his siblings means that he acts as another caregiver, and giving them something to connect over has made Daichi incredibly close to Chieko and Masaaki despite their age gap.

He can’t imagine a life without his siblings, no matter how much he disliked them back when he was five. Back then he would do everything in his power to ignore them or get them out of his hair. Now, all he can think about is making the most of the time he still has left with them. Even though it's nearly a decade away, his expiration date hangs heavy on his heart.

* * *

Daichi is hesitantly optimistic about their third year. They have a team advisor that actually cares about them even though he doesn’t know much about volleyball and their manager is riding on two years of previous experience. He, Suga, and Asahi have been working tirelessly for the past two years to elevate their skills and the second years aren’t half bad either. After seeing the first year match, he and Suga get pretty excited.

“Do you think we can get Asahi to come back?” Suga chews his lip worriedly as they clean up after practice. He doesn’t miss the look Suga shoots at the broken broom.

Daichi sighs loud and long, his mind churning through possibilities. “That would be ideal,” he finally says. “But that game with Date Tech...that was a rough one.” 

Suga’s face darkens at the mention of the school name, and Daichi regrets saying it. But then his expression morphs into one of resolve, his jaw set and his eyes intense. “One bad game can’t define our team. We’ll find a way to get him back.” 

With the way Suga looks when he says it, Daichi can’t even imagine another outcome. 

It’s when they’re walking to Sakinoshita after cleanup when Hinata bounces up beside him. “Sawamura-senpai, can I ask you a question?” 

“Call me Daichi. And sure, what’s up?”

“Do you think we can make it to nationals this year?” 

The question gives Daichi pause. “I think that the team can be stronger than it’s been in a long time,” he starts, “as long as we work hard. Of course, having a proper coach would help us along, but until then Suga and I will do the best we can to aid the growth of the team. We aren’t strong unless all of us are strong.” 

“Whoa,” Hinata is looking at him with wide, starstruck eyes. “You’re so cool, Daichi-san. Isn’t he cool?” He looks over at Kageyama, who shrugs. “He’s a captain and his receives are amazing and he says awesome things and he always smells like flowers!” 

Daichi freezes. “I smell...what?” 

Hinata looked unbothered before, but now he notices Daichi’s slight discomfort. “Oh! I, uh, I didn’t mean...it’s just that you smell really good! Like flowers! It’s not bad at all, it’s really nice when you’re standing on the court and I walk past you and the smell just, _whishhh,_ and I dunno. It’s nice.” 

“You’re rambling,” Kageyama drones, earning a punch in the arm from Hinata. 

“Daichi’s smelled like flowers since I’ve known him,” Suga tries to bring the conversation away from the punching match Hinata and Kageyama have found themselves in. Unfortunately, he brings it right back onto Daichi.

“I have?” Daichi frowns, trying to sniff himself. 

“Yup! I figured it was your deodorant or body spray.” 

Daichi wills his face not to give anything away. He’s absolutely horrified, his palms wet and his neck red. Has he really smelled like flowers this entire time? Will anyone be able to figure out his ailment from that information? “Oh, ha no, it’s probably the detergent my parents use,” Daichi tries to laugh it off. _Please stop asking please stop talking about it please ignore how much I’m freaking out._

“Aw, we’re embarrassing him!” Tanaka runs up behind them, slinging an arm around Daichi’s shoulders. 

Daichi decides to ignore him. “I’m sorry if it’s distracting or overwhelming,” he says to the first years. 

“It’s nice,” Kageyama mumbles, not looking at him. 

“Yeah, I like it!!” Hinata skips. Then he catches sight of Sakinoshita in the distance and hits Kageyama. “Race ya there!” The two of them take off, Kageyama yelling insults at Hinata the whole time.

“Those two are going to cause us a lot of trouble,” Suga appears next to Daichi, smiling at the first years as they sprint down the road.

“I’m sure,” Daichi manages to choke out, stifling a cough. 

“Hey, wanna come over tonight? I was thinking of watching that new horror movie. You know, the one with the kid?”

“Oh yeah,” Daichi vaguely remembers seeing an advertisement for something like that. “Sounds fun.” He catches sight of the two first years trying to shove their way into the doorway of the shop and he rolls his eyes. “If you two don’t calm down now, I’m not buying you a meat bun!” He yells, and watches with satisfaction as they tumble to the ground in a defeated heap.

“Still got it, Captain,” Suga slaps his back as he makes his way into the store. Daichi can’t tell if his resulting cough is from Suga’s proximity or choking on his own spit at the words.

* * *

There are some days that Daichi has to stay home. It doesn’t matter how integral their next practice is, or if he has a test review, or if he has plans to study with Suga and Asahi. Some days, it’s all he can do to keep Suga out of his head. Today is one of those days.

He’s curled up miserably on the bathroom floor, his parents at work and the twins at school, trying to force thoughts of Suga from his mind. The way he tilts his head back when he laughs, the impishness of his grin, the softness in his eyes for their kouhais. On days like today, thinking of Suga’s mental strength even in the face of crushing defeat sends him hurling his breakfast along with blue flowers (hyacinths, he thinks mindlessly) into the toilet. Reminding himself of Suga’s endless kindness when Daichi’s not at 100% has him coughing up pink petals with white streaking (hydrangeas, ugh). Having feverish visions of Suga’s hand on his as they share their bentos has him spiralling into a puking fit of yellow (sunflowers, he mourns) until he can’t breathe anymore. 

When Suga texts him, _**Practice wasn’t the same without you!**_ he vomits so hard it comes out of his nose, burning and awful.

“Daichi, this is killing you,” Asahi says to him as he watches his friend choke up an entire sunflower. It’s a horrible sight. 

“That’s kind of the point,” Daichi gasps, flushing the toilet and rinsing his mouth with water from the sink. Asahi had stopped by with his homework about an hour ago and had stayed for dinner at his parent’s insistence.

“If he knew, Suga would hate that you’re going through this for him,” Asahi says bitterly. 

Daichi glares up at his friend from the bathroom floor. Man, he is really starting to hate these tiles. “That’s why you aren’t going to tell him. Ever. He shouldn’t have to feel any guilt for what’s happening to me.”

Asahi lets out a noise of frustration, something between a groan and a shout. “If you just told him, maybe this could be resolved!”

“If I told him, he would hate me forever! I can’t imagine the burden of knowing that your inability to love someone caused their death.” 

Asahi’s face softens, and he closes his eyes to steel himself. “Daichi. You're dying because of these feelings you’re choking down. You can’t run from this.” 

Daichi raises his eyes to look Asahi dead on. “Funny, a speech about not running coming from you.”

Asahi clenches his jaw and turns his face away. Daichi almost regrets his words. Almost. “I left your homework on your desk,” he says, voice clipped. “Feel better.”

The next day, Asahi is at practice along with their new interim coach. His eyes keep meeting Daichi’s during the practice match, the declaration in them clear as day. _I stopped running. When will you?_

* * *

After they lose to Seijo at Interhigh, Suga comes to his house and cries in his arms. 

“Is it over?” He asks. His eyes are rimmed red and his nose is slightly running as he looks up at Daichi. They’re sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall and holding each other in a way that friends usually don’t.

“Not if we don’t want it to be,” Daichi responds, his hand still running its way up and down Suga’s spine. 

Suga lets his head fall back onto Daichi’s chest. “I didn’t want to cry in front of them,” he says, referring to their kouhais. “But while we were eating, I…”

“I know,” Daichi says. And he does. He, too, had lost his composure.

“How are we supposed to continue to lead the team?” Suga asks. Daichi tries not to laugh. Suga is asking him? Daichi can’t even take control of his own life, let alone the quickly dwindling volleyball dreams of twelve high schoolers. 

Maybe it would be better -- _easier_ \-- if they passed the torch to the second years. But god, Daichi isn’t ready to give up on his silly highschool aspirations yet. He wants to hold onto the experience a bit longer.

“The same way we always have. With confidence that the team can become stronger as long as we give it the support it needs.” Daichi tries to memorize the way Suga looks at him after he says that. His soft mouth, his wide eyes, his crinkled brow. 

When Daichi thinks back on Suga’s expression later that night, he coughs up flowers until he’s puking from the taste.

The next morning, he pukes up the first flowers with blood.

* * *

The Tokyo training camp is a test of patience and endurance, one that Daichi isn’t sure he can pass. The strange rivalry he sparked up with the Nekoma captain back during their practice matches in Golden Week blazes on, and for the first time in almost a year he goes an entire day without coughing up flowers. Daichi throws his energy into elevating their team. Every time they see a new technique they’re bursting at the seams to try it. It’s wonderful and exhilarating and exciting. 

Tokyo is like a bubble. In the bubble no frustration exists: just a drive to be better. In Tokyo, Daichi’s dreams are filled with Oikawa and Kuroo and Ushijima, all the teams they’ve never been strong enough to beat but one day might. It’s this insane drive to get better that saves him from waking up with petals littering his pillow (just in case, he sleeps next to the wall anyways). Even though Suga is beside him every day unrelentingly, it’s easier to forget him behind the flying dives and watermelon and late night practices. 

It can’t last, though. 

His continuous proximity to Suga is taking a toll on his body. He can feel it in the way he exhausts and overheats too early in the day, can taste it like dying flowers that have been left in the vase for a few days too long. 

The amount of energy he’s spent trying not to think of Suga is exhausting, and as the hours wear on all he can think about is how much Suga has grown. How he’s who the team goes to for guidance and encouragement, how they look to him for advice and stability. It makes Daichi’s chest ache to think of the unsure first year Suga used to be compared to the emotional pillar of a third year he is now. Has that much time really gone by? He wonders if he can stop it from moving faster. All he wants is to pause their lives right here, in this perfect moment, where Suga is always beautiful and laughing and appreciated. 

They have one more day in Tokyo when Daichi startles awake at 4am because he can’t breathe. He blindly stumbles from the room as quietly as he can, dodging the landmine that is his teammate’s sleeping arrangements. Once he makes it out to the hallway he gasps desperately for air, making his way to a door that leads outside. The bathroom is too close to the team rooms: he would definitely be heard if he hunched over a toilet. So instead he trips his way to a more secluded area of the school and braces himself on the rough brick as he coughs violently, trying to clear his airways. 

He can feel the flowers as they suffocate him. He can barely suck in enough air to try and expel the damn things. A few petals flutter down from his lips, shining in the moonlight of the morning. They’re the white ones that Daichi hasn’t been able to place because they haven’t come out as full blooms yet. The petals are tiny, so there must be a whole lot of them to put him in this state. 

His coughing is awful. He can feel himself trying to gasp as he makes horrible choking sounds, a cacophony of panic and release as he leans even more heavily onto the building. He has one forearm braced above his head on the building and his other hand braced on his thigh as he comes to terms with his debilitating love for Suga. Before, he could laugh at how pathetic it was. Now it’s just a tragedy.

The force of his coughing finally gives way to vomiting right as he faintly hears someone calling out, “You okay?” The voice says something else but he can’t hear it anymore, the force of his illness wracking through his entire body. The person reaches him right as his legs give out, and he sits hunched on his hands and knees and arches his spine as he vomits into the grass. _“Holyfuckingshit,”_ the person breathes out. They start rubbing his back as tears roll down his cheeks.

“That’s it, that’s it. Keep it up, you’re doing great,” they say. Daichi heaves up a batch of perfectly intact white flowers, speckled generously with blood. “Oh fuck,” the person says, and Daichi can finally place the voice. It’s none other than the captain of Nekoma himself, Kuroo Tetsurou. “Should I get someone? I should get someone. Holy fuck.” 

Daichi tries to lift his head to talk to him but there’s something sharp stabbing his throat and he clutches at it, coughing desperately to get it unstuck. Kuroo thumps him solidly on the back and it becomes dislodged enough that Daichi can reach into the back of his mouth with his fingers and pull it out. It comes painfully, with more coughs and spluttering, and it’s not long before Daichi holds up a flower, complete with stem and leaves. Well. That’s new. His hand is dripping blood -- from where, Daichi isn’t sure. 

“I’m definitely going to go and get someone,” Kuroo says, eyes wide and face pale. 

“No,” Daichi grounds out. He spits out a few leaves. Gross. “‘M fine now.” 

“What!? I--you--” Kuroo splutters, waving his hands frantically in the air. “Nothing about that was fine!” 

Daichi takes a few more deep breaths before he sits up on his knees, giving Kuroo his signature _I’m-the-Captain-don’t-argue-with-me_ look. “I said, I’m fine.” 

He forgets that Kuroo is also a captain. “You were choking on _flowers,_ Sawamura. You have blood all over your clothes! Your throat sounds like you’ve been swallowing knives as a hobby! You’re not fine!” Daichi just grunts and starts gathering up the bloodied flowers. There’s more than usual, probably because he hasn’t been coughing them up all weekend. 

“Stubborn idiot,” Kuroo grumbles, automatically dropping to his knees to help.

They pick up flowers in silence for a minute. “You should go back to whatever you were doing,” Daichi says. He pauses. “Wait, what _were_ you doing? It’s four in the morning.” 

“I like to go for a run before everyone wakes up,” Kuroo shrugs. “I was on my way out when I heard someone literally _dying_ back here.” Daichi doesn’t say anything. “How long has this been a thing?” 

Daichi wants to keep silent because of his annoyance, but Kuroo did just help him through what is easily becoming one of the worst mornings of his life. “Almost three years,” he says. Kuroo doesn’t say anything, so Daichi looks up to see that he’s frozen in place, staring at Daichi as if he just said he was a famous Jpop singer or whatnot. There's something akin to pity in his eyes. 

“How can you…? Three years? Are they even worth it?”

Daichi looks at the now-crumpled flowers in his hands. They’re beautiful. He wonders what they are -- what they mean. “It hurts,” Daichi starts, “but it doesn’t hurt as much as forgetting him would.” 

“That’s simultaneously the sweetest and stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Never took you for a romantic, Sawamura. Or a dumbass.” 

“Love makes you stupid,” Daichi spits out a petal that stuck to the inside of his cheek. 

“Apparently.” Kuroo is looking at him oddly, with an uneven mixture of disbelief and awe. Daichi still isn’t sure which emotion Kuroo is going for, or which one is winning out. 

Daichi winces, gripping the petals closer to his chest. “Help me stand?” Kuroo is immediately in motion, heaving him up by the armpits. 

“Whoa,” Kuroo steadies him when he tips forward a bit too much. “Dude, you’re kinda warm.”

“You’re supposed to say hot,” Daichi mumbles, exhausted now that he has a moment to breathe. 

“Now Daichi, you’re a good lookin’ guy but that’s not what I meant,” Kuroo chuckles. He presses a palm to Daichi’s forehead and clicks his tongue, then leans over to scoop up the flowers he dropped. “Not too bad, but we should probably get you back to bed. Where do you want these things?” 

“I usually run a low-grade fever through the night,” Daichi grins weakly. “We’ll just toss them in the trash can.” He and Kuroo walk side by side back to the building, Kuroo’s usual loping gait slowed down immensely for Daichi’s sake.

“You sure he’s worth this, Captain?” 

Daichi almost doesn’t dignify that with a response. But also, Kuroo did pick up his bloody and vomit-wet flowers. “Do you really need to ask that again?” 

Kuroo looks between Daichi and the one flower he still has clenched in his bloody hand. “Well, I suppose if you’re willing to die for him, he must be.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Daichi grins, hitting Kuroo’s shoulder with his own. 

“You know,” Kuroo says as they reenter the building, “you’re not too bad, Sawamura. Stupid, definitely. But not too bad.”

* * *

The flower was a periwinkle. _Delightful memories._

* * *

Daichi doesn’t know how he’s kept it under wraps for so long. Maybe it’s his usual explanation of, “Allergies, sorry Coach!” or his strange talent for holding in coughing fits until he starts choking or even his easily-disguised coughs as laughs or throat clearings. But the two and a half year anniversary of his first coughed-up flower petal hits right after their win against Seijo. It’s almost poetic, holding a crying Suga in his arms again six months after their devastating loss, except this time the tears are tears of joy and disbelief. Daichi thinks that he’ll ride this high forever. 

That is, until he has to run off the court during their celebration to cough up flowers in the bathroom. They’re the blue ones again -- hyacinths. He’s coughing and gagging and listening to the flowers hit the water in the toilet for a few minutes before he flushes the toilet and straightens up, wiping blood and refuse from the corner of his mouth as he exits the stall. He immediately freezes. Standing there, arms crossed and an unimpressed look on his face, is Coach Ukai.

“I--” Daichi opens his mouth to try and explain it away, but Ukai holds up a single hand to silence him.

“Don’t disrespect me by lyin’ to me, kid.” Daichi closes his mouth and hangs his head, nodding. Ukai reaches over and flips the lock on the door before returning to his spot directly in front of him. “We have exactly ten minutes before Sensei comes lookin’ for us. You’ll answer all my questions, got it?” Daichi nods again. “Good. How long?” 

“Two and a half years since yesterday.” 

“You gettin’ the surgery?” 

“I…” Daichi looks up at Ukai, whose expression hasn’t changed since the beginning of their conversation. “No,” he whispers. It’s something he hasn’t even told his parents. Just like he needs the hope that Suga might one day love him back, they need the hope that he’ll one day give in and get the surgery. 

“Do you understand that you can change your mind?” 

Daichi’s a little confused and surprised at the question, but Ukai’s face doesn’t give anything away. He wonders if his coach is talking about getting the surgery, or telling Suga, or even having a crush on Suga. He wonders if it even matters what the question is referring to.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Have you told your parents?” 

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else know?” 

“Asahi. And Kuroo Tetsurou.” 

“The crafty kid from Nekoma?” Daichi nods in confirmation. “Huh.” Ukai looks at him seriously. “Do you have someone to talk to about what you’re going through?” 

“I think, yeah.” 

“What flower was it this time?” 

“Hyacinths.” 

“Sports. A flower for celebration and funeral.” Ukai uncrosses his arms, his body sagging a little. “Come here, kid.” He opens his arms slightly and Daichi finds himself enveloped in the most awkward and paternal hug he’s experienced outside of his own father. He sags into his coach, his tears wetting Ukai’s tracksuit slightly, and Ukai tightens his grip as they both relax into the embrace. “It’s alright,” he says gently, and Daichi audibly sobs into his shoulder. “I got ya, kid.” 

When Daichi pulls away, Ukai looks ten years older. “Everyone asks why. Why don’t I get the surgery? Why don’t I confess? I’m sick of explaining why.” 

“Kid, I know why,” Ukai answers, his hand on Daichi’s shoulder. “I won’t ask. But I want you to know that no matter how many years pass, I’ll always be your coach. And you come to me if you need a coach or a friend, ya hear?” 

Daichi nods, blinking hard. 

Ukai is silent, cradling Daichi’s head for a moment. “You’re a good kid.” He clears his throat and releases his hold. “Now splash some cold water on your face so we can head back to the bus. If anyone asks, we were strategizing for tomorrow. You can still play, can’t you?” 

“Of course, sir,” Daichi says, dunking his head in the spray of the sink. 

“Good. Let’s go, kid. They’re waiting.”

* * *

_“Daichi?”_

Suga’s voice is like the light emitted from a lamppost when it’s past midnight on a summer night and the moon isn’t bright. Daichi is walking alone on a road when he encounters Suga’s light, and he follows it only because he has no other choice.

“Suga,” he’s sobbing a little, and embarrassed that Suga had to find out _this_ way. God, he wishes it could have been different. 

Suga is immediately running to his side, his face pulled into a grim expression of horror. He knows what the flowers surrounding Daichi mean. It’s tragically beautiful, Daichi thinks absently. Flowers and blood are dripping from his lips like little pieces of stars, and they litter the floor around him in a sort of galaxy. Suga’s hand grips his, his only respite in this unknown galaxy, yet his only vice as well. It’s Suga’s hand that simultaneously keeps him grounded and sends him spiraling deeper into space. 

Suga wasn’t supposed to find out this way. 

They won against Shiratorizawa. Everything was supposed to be perfect for the end of their third year. They would go to nationals and have a bittersweet but dignified goodbye before going off on separate life paths: Suga to university for elementary education, Asahi into the workforce, and Daichi to the police academy. The separation would be hard at first, and they would text, but eventually life would get in the way and they would all grow apart. Daichi would serve the citizens of Japan for as long as possible until he hit his expiration date, and then he would quietly die with his parents and the twins to mourn him. Suga would never know. 

All of that goes out the window when Suga walks into his room for their study session that Daichi forgets about and finds Daichi coughing up flower after flower. Unlike Asahi, who froze, or Kuroo, who audibly freaked out, Suga just holds his hand with strong resolve and rubs his back gently, murmuring words of encouragement. 

“There, get it all out,” he says gently. “You’re doing great.” 

Daichi has to let go of Suga’s hand to brace himself on the floor, coughing up another whole flower. This one is a sunflower, and it all comes up: flower, stem, and leaves. “Suga,” Daichi wails again, before he starts coughing up another whole flower. Right before the match against Seijo, Daichi took a break from the suppressants. His break will probably cost him a few years, but he can’t be sad about it when he feels the unbridled triumph of their win. He’s kind of regretting it now, though. 

“You’re doing great,” Suga says again, but his voice is choked and there are tears slipping down his face as he says the words. The process repeats itself, both boys sobbing on the bedroom floor until Daichi finally collapses with a shuddering breath, sucking in lungfuls of air as Suga cards his fingers through his hair, hands shaking. After five minutes of silence, Daichi unsteadily rises into a sitting position, lamenting the blood wetting his wooden floors. He starts gathering the flowers, scooping them into a trash bag that he keeps in his room for this exact purpose. 

“Daichi,” Suga begins, voice shaky. 

Daichi turns his tired eyes to Suga. “Help me?” He asks quietly. Suga presses his lips into a firm line and nods, gently collecting the flowers -- yellow, blue, and white -- and placing them into the trash bag. It’s odd to see: there’s always been a disconnect between the flowers themselves and the person causing them, but seeing the two things together just makes Daichi start coughing again, a little less violently than before, petals filling his hands. 

“Who’s doing this to you, Daichi?” Suga’s voice is suddenly loud, but still just as sad. Daichi just coughs up blue petals. “How are they worth this?” Daichi looks up to see Suga’s face, and he immediately regrets looking. Suga is devastated. Daichi is guilt-ridden. He spits out a periwinkle. 

“I’m sorry,” Daichi gets out. 

“Don’t apologize for being in love,” Suga cries gently. God, he’s so beautiful. Of course Suga would make sure his feelings weren’t invalidated. Of course Suga would comfort him. Of course. It’s one of the reasons why Daichi loves him so damn much that he can’t breathe. “They don’t even know how lucky they are,” Suga continues, “to be loved by you.” He strokes Daichi’s face and neck and back as Daichi chokes on a hydrangea. 

He looks up at Suga, outwardly mourning for him, and thinks, _Maybe this is the way it’s supposed to be._ Suga will be burdened by the knowledge that Daichi’s dying, but he won’t have to know. He won’t ever have to know the cause. And Daichi will die, and Suga will go to his funeral and think of him once in a while when he skims over the obituary or smells a hydrangea, and Suga will continue his life unencumbered. 

“I’m sorry, I wish I could share your burden,” Suga laughs bitterly.

“No,” Daichi says, finally bathing in the quick respite he has. He wonders how he can ask Suga to leave so he can recover better from this attack. “I’m lucky to love them. I wouldn’t change it for anything.” He coughs again, but it subsides this time.

“Even through all this pain? Daichi, you’ve been sick for a while, haven’t you?” Suga looks upset. “Oh god, I’m an awful friend. I can’t believe...I can’t believe I didn’t notice. Oh, you must hate me.”

“No! No,” Daichi says quickly. He lifts his head and sits up, leaning heavily on Suga and placing his head on his best friend’s -- his love’s -- shoulder. “I could never hate you. I didn’t want you to know.”

“You…?” Suga’s eyes widen and his face crumples as more tears fill his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Daichi.” 

“No, no. Shh.” Daichi rubs his hand up and down Suga’s arm in an attempt to comfort him. 

“And now you’re comforting me, even though you’re the one who just produced a floral shop’s worth of flowers,” Suga sobs out a laugh, sniffing as he placed his other hand over Daichi’s comforting one. “I’m sorry for being such an awful friend.”

“An awful friend?” Daichi frowns, lifting his head from Suga’s shoulder to look his friend in the eye. “Suga, you’re probably the most incredible friend in the world. Actually, probably the most incredible person in the world. You gave up your starting setter spot that you worked tirelessly for to a first year because you thought it would give our team the best chance of winning. You are the biggest role model to everyone on our team, myself included. You’re kind and caring.

“But you’re also the most sarcastic person I know, other than Tsukishima and Coach,” Daichi laughs to himself. “And you aren’t afraid to go after what you want. Or call me out when I’m being a dumbass. You push me every day to be better. You make me want to conquer the world. Everyone who has met you knows exactly what I’m talking about. It’s why you’re my best friend. And it’s why I love you.” 

And there it is. With blood in his mouth and flowers at his knees, Daichi confesses his feelings to his best friend. It isn’t intentional, but nothing with Suga is. It just... _is._

Suga, for his part, looks gobsmacked. His mouth is slack in surprise, his tears halted in this momentary suspension of time. 

“I’m sorry,” Daichi says. 

“Did you mean it?” Suga’s voice is so soft, Daichi isn’t sure he spoke. 

“What?”

“Did you mean it?”

Daichi furrows his brows, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Yes.”

“Then don’t apologize. Were you ever going to tell me?” Suga’s face is unreadable. 

“No. I...didn’t want you to feel guilt when you didn’t feel the same. I’m sorry,” Daichi says again.

"You're dying...because of me." 

"Suga--" Daichi can't finish, another flower trying to make its way up his esophagus. He forcefully swallows it. 

Suga’s crying again, but this time there’s a growing smile on his face. “I can’t believe that I fell in love with such an absolute idiot,” he giggles.

“Hey! I’m not--” Daichi stops mid-protest, Suga’s words finally registering. “Wait. You what?”

“I fucking love you too, dumbass!” Suga says forcefully before roughly grabbing Daichi’s face in his hands and pressing their lips together.

It’s like everything Suga does: sure, awe-filled, and beautiful. It sure as hell isn’t graceful though, and it tastes like copper blood and flowers. But it’s a kiss from Suga. One that promises the rest of their lives, however long that may be. Now that his expiration date has been lifted, Daichi thinks he may live forever as long as Suga is by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> Aw, sappy!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this fluffly grossness, I had such a fun time writing it haha! Leave a kudos or comment if you enjoyed, I respond to all comments! xx
> 
> Sunflower: loyalty, longevity, adoration  
> Hydrangea: gratitude, honesty, deep understanding  
> White periwinkle: delightful memories  
> Blue hyacinth: sports, constancy


End file.
